


It's a Game its a Contest (Wild About You)

by TroubleIWant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, First Kiss, Fluff, Gender non-conforming kid, Getting Together, M/M, Pranks, sports rivalries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6777955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubleIWant/pseuds/TroubleIWant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hates Derek, snooty captain of the basketball team, and Derek hates Stiles, annoying prankster of the lacrosse team. There's no way that Coach's punishing them by setting them up to volunteer at the library together is going to end in anything but annoyance, teasing, and possibly a fight. It is absolutely not going to end in kisses. (Except that it is)</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>"Blinski, you’re with Hale.”<br/>“What?” Derek squawks before he can help himself. “Coach, I’m the captain, it should be me and…”<br/>“It’s you and Blinski,” Coach interrupts. <br/>“C’mon Coach, you can’t be serious,” Stilinski says, looking almost as panicked as Derek feels. <br/>“Aaannd you two chumps get to clean up this locker room over the weekend, on top of your ten hours,” Coach announces. “You wanna get your jockstraps untwisted and shut up yet, or you wanna keep back-talking?”<br/>Derek shuts up, and so does Stilinski. When their eyes meet across the locker room, for once it seems that they’re in perfect agreement: the next few weeks are going to be hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Game its a Contest (Wild About You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captaintinymite (augopher)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/gifts).



> Witten for the [Sterek Writer's Network](http://sterekwriters.tumblr.com/) Spring event, as a gift for [Captaintinymite](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com/)! Title from [the Mates of State song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUf4G-9x-RM).

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles angles the can just right and presses the trigger, shooting a glorious stream of white fluff into an arc across the locker he knows belongs to that asshole, Hale. He steps back to examine his handiwork, and grins. It looks exactly like cum shooting out of the huge dick he’d drawn across Boyd and Lahey’s lockers with shaving cream.

At the other end of the locker room, Jackson and Danny are using their own cans to draw an unflattering stick figure holding a basketball and drooling. There are about eight empties littered on the floor, their contents disgorged onto the mirrors, lockers, showers and floor. It’s amazing.

The only part of the room that’s untouched is the wall of lockers belonging to the lacrosse team, which is probably stupidly incriminating. But to be fair, it’s not as if Coach won’t figure out exactly who’s behind the prank regardless. The lacrosse-basketball prank war is legendary, at this point. 

What else could he expect, though? The rival teams have to share the locker room from February, when lacrosse training starts, until mid March, when the basketball team has championships. And they always go to championships. Last year the fuckers had celebrated their victory by putting kids’ cereal in all of the locker room sinks _and_ _urinals_ on the last day of their season, so the lacrosse team had to clean it all up before practice the next morning. 

Well, not this time. Cleaning the locker room is officially the Basketball team’s responsibility until March, and they’re going to regret ever starting this stupid prank war. To be completely accurate, Stiles doesn’t remember precisely how it started some three years ago, but he’s almost positive it was the basketball guys who fired the first shot.

“You think this is really a good idea?” Scott asks, half-heartedly drawing a frowny face on an empty locker.

Stiles sniggers. “Oh, yeah. We’re getting them good this time. Can you imagine the look on Hale’s face when he sees all this?” Stiles can. He’s going to look completely constipated and it’s going to be great. Stiles wishes he could be there to see it.

“You sure talk about him a lot,” says Scott, making a face.

“Ppft, I do not,” Stiles retorts, because he absolutely doesn’t. He hardly gives a second thought to the guy, except to notice that he’s snooty and kind of a teacher’s pet, and way too aware of how fucking good-looking he is. It’s annoying, everyone on the lacrosse team thinks so.

“Right,” Scott says, rolling his eyes. “Should we even be making this much of a mess, though? It’s kind of….”

“Kind of perfect. Stop worrying, Scott, the ballers are the ones on the hook for cleaning up. What could possibly go wrong?”

Quite a bit, as it turns out.

 

* * *

 

 

If looks could kill, Derek would have successfully decimated the entire lacrosse team by now, and the basketball team could finally have the run of their own locker room in peace. As it is, the rival team barely even looks sorry about the huge mess they’ve made, or about the huge amount of trouble it’s gotten them all into. 

And yes, they’re  _ all _ in trouble. Coach has gathered every member of both teams in the locker room to yell at them about the destructive prank war, even though it was McCall’s team who screwed up this time. Derek huffs a sigh and crosses his arms. To be fair, he’s annoyed at some of his teamates, too, for their part in this. Why do they always have to get involved in avenging dumb pranks, when they’re supposed to be playing sports?

“Oh, and then the petroleum on the door handles!” Coach is shouting, finally nearing the end of a good half hour tirade recapping of every prank either team has pulled in the last few years. “You almost killed Danny! And Greenberg, too. Admittedly less of a loss there, but still. And was that enough? No! No, we had to have the cereal. That’s a waste of perfectly good Lucky Charms! Do you know how much I love those little rainbow marshmallows? How hard it was to see them sitting there where you jerks pee?” He does look genuinely sorrowful at the thought of the disrespected confections. “And now this. Now  _ this _ . Clearly I’ve been too lenient with you. If I’d participated in this sort of prank when I was your age they would have fed me to sharks!”

“So we’re getting fed to sharks?” co-captain Whitmore says, bored and sarcastic as always.

“I wish!” Coach yells. “Ordered the tank and everything. But lucky for you, Principal Argent told me that would result in lawsuits. So, community service it is. Ten hours each.”

A chorus of groans goes up among both teams. Derek rolls his eyes, but he’s not really that upset. His mom’s had him volunteering with various nonprofits each summer since he was ten, so he’s definitely used to spending his ostensibly free time giving back to the community. Sure, he’d rather be out hanging with Erica and Boyd or driving the Camaro his dad had gotten him for his sweet sixteen, but there are worse ways to spend his after-school hours.

“Oh, you think that’s bad? Well, you have another thing coming,” Coach says with a certain mad glint his his eyes. “You punks are going to learn to work together if it kills you, which hopefully it will. Each of you will be paired with a member of the other team for your volunteer assignment.”

The groans at that pronouncement are louder and more pained. Even Derek catches himself letting out a whine. As team co-captain, he guesses he’ll be paired with one of the lacrosse co-captains, Whitmore and McCall. Being stuck with Whitmore would suck, but he thinks he could work with McCall. On the whole, the guy seems okay, generally kind and encouraging of his junior teammates. In fact, the biggest argument against him is his close friendship with his spastic, dumb flunkie Stilinski. Unlike McCall, he’s sarcastic and mean and thinks he’s too cool for school. Everything about him is unreasonably irritating, from his ever-present smirk to his stupid buzzcut.

“Whitmore, Boyd,” Coach says, gesturing the two of them together.  Derek almost laughs when Whitmore gulps as he catches a glimpse of Boyd’s unimpressed face. Derek’s co-captain manages to convey a very threatening “just try something” look, despite barely moving one eyebrow. Looks like Whitmore’s usual strategy of strong-arming others into doing his work for him won’t be very effective this time; The guy might learn some manners yet. Best of all, if Whitmore is paired with Boyd, that means Derek gets McCall.

“McCall, you’re with Lahey,” Coach instructs. Derek blinks in surprise. Weren’t the captains going to be paired up?

“Dunbar, it’s you and Mahealani. And Blinski, you’re with Hale.”

No. No, no,  _ no _ . That is not right at all. “What?” Derek squawks before he can help himself. “Coach, I’m the  _ captain _ , it should be me and…”

“It’s you and Blinski,” Coach interrupts. 

“C’mon Coach, you can’t be serious,” Stilinski says, looking almost as panicked as Derek feels. 

“Aaannd you two chumps get to clean up this locker room over the weekend, on top of your ten hours,” Coach announces. “You wanna get your jockstraps untwisted and shut up yet, or you wanna keep back-talking?”

Derek shuts up, and so does Stilinski. When their eyes meet across the locker room, for once it seems that they’re in perfect agreement: the next few weeks are going to be hell.

 

* * *

 

 

“Derek hates me,” Stiles insists. He and Scott are walking home today, because while he technically inherited his mom’s old powder blue jeep, he also inherited its finicky engine. It’s back in the shop for at least a few more days, and it’s not like either of their single parents is around to give them a ride. Beacon Hills is a small enough town to be relatively walkable, and having an excuse to hang out with Scott isn’t the worst thing… but still. He’s a Junior now, he’s not supposed to have to walk everywhere. 

Derek, of course, doesn’t have to walk, or drive a second hand jeep. No, he’s got a fucking classic Camaro that looks like sex appeal if sex appeal was a car. It fits well with his whole  _ look _ : the stubble and leather and aviators and intimidating muscles and intimidating  _ everything  _ if Stiles is being honest. He’s a stuck up, entitled, popular jock with a nice car and no personality: he’s everything Stiles despises, on top of the team rivalry. And he hates Stiles, too.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Scott says mildly.

“He fucking does, Scott,” Stiles retorts. “He always has this weird expression when he looks at me, like someone is giving him a wet willie. You’ve got to save me. Be a bro, swap me for Lahey.”

“No way, man, you heard Coach. Besides, I’m looking forward to working with Isaac. We’re cleaning the park off Main, doing some landscaping. It’ll be fun to be outside, and kids love that park.”

“ _ Isaac _ ?” Stiles says incredulously. “He’s ‘Isaac’ now?”

Scott shrugs. “I’m done with this dumb rivalry, it really has gotten out of hand. It’ll be fine, you and Hale just need to not kill each other for the next month. How hard can that be?”

“Hard! Even if I’m nice, that won’t make him nice to  _ me _ !” Stiles protests.

Scott just rolls his eyes, the traitor. “Which community service did Coach sign you up for?”

“We’re doing a literacy thing at the library,” Stiles grumbles. “Reading to kids or whatever. He’s going to  _ eat a child _ and I will be blamed.”

“He’s not the big bad wolf,” Scott says through a grin. “He’s a normal person. You’ll see.”

_ Ugh _ . Sometimes Stiles loathes being besties with a personified beam of sunshine. 

“See you tomorrow,” Scott says, peeling off to walk towards his street while Stiles continues towards his own block. “Make good choices!”

Stiles waves his hand over his shoulder and yells, “No promises!” 

Despite Scott’s good cheer, Stiles is still worried about the whole proposition. The cleaning over the weekend won’t be a walk in the park by itself, and then volunteering twice a week after school for a whole month? He’s not sure he’ll survive. Hale isn’t actively mean like Lahey or anything, but he still makes Stiles nervous. He doesn’t understand why, but just thinking about all the time they’re going to spend alone together makes Stiles’ heart feel like it’s beating out of his chest.

He gulps. Hopefully he’s being irrational and Scott is right. Maybe Hale doesn’t hate him after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek hates Stilinski so much right now that his skin is crawling with it. For starters, he’s pretty sure that this kid is the one behind the entire shaving cream prank. It seems like exactly his brand of stupid. And of course Derek  _ knows _ that Stilinski is the reason the two of them alone are responsible for all this cleaning over the weekend. If the guy had just kept his mouth shut, Derek could be over at Boyd’s right now, playing Melee with him and Erica. He can’t help but curling his lip in disgust. It’s so unbelievably unfair. His basketball team didn’t even have anything to do with creating the mess.

That’s not even the half of why he loathes Stilinski, though. Even without all the childish prank stuff, Derek hates that he’s the kind of student who could do well, but doesn’t bother. He back-talks teachers, turns in essays that are barely related to the topics, and generally illustrates that he is taking nothing seriously and looks down on anyone who is. He’s all smug and devil-may-care and distressingly comfortable slouching around in his stupid grunge-lite plaid. He’s everything that Derek despises, on top of the team rivalry. Also, Derek is pretty sure Stilinski hates him.

But, whatever. Derek doesn’t even care, he can deal with ignoring the guy for a couple weeks. For the moment he keeps his head down and works quietly, trying to pretend he’s alone. He drags the cleaning rag over his own locker, smearing a very artful arc of what’s supposed to be cum. The crude dick has already been washed off, at least. Derek dunks the cloth in water, wrings it out, and starts working on the smeared residue. The sooner they’re done, the sooner they can go home. 

“Getcher bucket?” a tired voice says. Derek looks over, surprised. Stilinski is standing behind him, holding his own bucket that’s already white and frothy with shaving cream. It looks like he’s actually been working at cleaning up at least as much as Derek. Derek assumed he would slack off and try to get out of the responsibility without putting in much effort, the same way he is in class. But, at least for now, that’s not what’s happening. Stiles rubs his face, leaving a smear of shaving cream. “I need to refill mine anyways, so I can grab yours while I’m over by the sinks.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Derek says, handing his bucket over. “You’ve got…” he says, miming wiping his head. Stilinski stares at him, like he wasn’t sure Derek was capable of speech.

Derek sighs. “Shaving cream,” he explains, pointing at his own face again.

“Oh!” Stilinski ducks his head to wipe his cheek on his shoulder, rather than setting down either bucket. It’s a strangely guileless gesture, and it makes him look… something. Like less of a smart-ass, maybe. Derek huffs and returns to his own cleaning.

“Thanks,” Stiles says when he comes back with fresh water and sets a bucket next to Derek. “I have a kind of standing fear of going around school with like, food on my face or TP on my shoe or whatever. So. Appreciate the heads up.”

Derek shrugs, and then realizes Stiles probably didn’t see. “You always look fine.”

“Pffff,” Stiles says. “Tell that to Lahey.”

Derek lets out a little laugh despite himself. “Isaac’s just like that, if he can say something bitchy, he will. He does it to everyone.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t envy Scott, is all I have to say,” Stilinski says.

Derek smiles to himself at the backhanded compliment, and sneaks a glance back at where Stiles is diligently working on wiping up a stick figure. Half an hour ago he’d never have guessed that the guy even cared a bit what anyone thought of him. It’s strange to think of him as shy or nervous in any way, when he’d always seemed so sure of himself. Not that Derek’s suddenly forgot what an irreverent jerk Stilinski usually is, but… it’s interesting that there’s a bit more to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles meets Derek in the school parking lot after class that Tuesday, so they can go to the library together like they’d agreed. He’d actually thought about trying to ditch, to hide out in an empty classroom or something rather than facing the music. Cleaning the locker room together went surprisingly well, but Stiles can’t help but be anxious now that their actual volunteering is starting. Derek hasn’t been stuck up or teased him so far, but there’s still time for that to change. Stiles knows he isn’t good at sitting still and doing homework, and can already imagine Derek’s distain. Cleaning is easy enough, he can let his mind wander and jump around to his heart’s content, and nobody really minds if he drifts off for a few minutes before re-focusing. But paying steady attention to a little kid reading for a full hour? Not very likely. Derek’s going to find out how he can’t even do an elementary schooler’s homework, and mock him for not being as perfect and stoic and proper as Derek himself is.

But in the end, Stiles hadn’t wanted to risk Coach’s ire, so here he is - just a little late. He spots Derek and wanders over, tipping his chin up in greeting. The sex car, however, is nowhere to be seen. He frowns, looks around like it might be hidden, even though there’s not much chance of that on the flat asphalt, with only a few teachers’ basic Fords still parked off near the buildings. All the other kids have gone home. “Where’s your ride?”

“Uh,” Derek says, strangely contrite. “My mom took away the keys when she found out about the prank war punishment. Are you okay walking?”

“Sure,” Stiles say, shocked. Derek’s rich parents actually discipline him? The surprise masks his anxiety well enough that they fall into step naturally, Derek reviewing  the paperwork Coach had given them. 

“So, we’re supposed to help with reading and homework, do you have a preference for which one you wanna do?” Derek asks, all business.

“Whatever, you pick,” Stiles says quickly, feeling a bit sick again as his brain starts cataloguing all the things that could go wrong. He can’t do either of those things well, he’s going to look like a fool. “Ugh, this sucks. Bet we’re going to get stuck with a lame kid.”

Derek frowns. “None of the kids are  _ lame _ .”

Stiles feels himself flush, suddenly ashamed for whining. He hadn’t really meant it like that, he knows well enough what it’s like to be the weirdo in class. Before Scott made good as lacrosse captain and helped him get off the bench, he was the butt of many a joke in the cafeteria. Derek, on the other hand, has always been tall, relatively good looking and sporty. He’s not somebody who should be able say things like “none of the kids are lame” so earnestly. It’s just… unexpected. They lapse into silence.

Only Stiles isn’t really good with silence, and about a second later he blurts, “Your mom’s strict?”

“Huh?” Derek says.

Stiles shrugs, unsure of himself. “I mean, you already got community service, and she still takes your keys...” He always kind of wonders what his own mom would be like if she was here for his wild teenage years.

“Oh, that. No, or not more than you’d have to be with four kids running around,” Derek smiles ruefully. “She just wants me to get into a good school like Laura, set a good example for Cora and Patrick and all.” 

“Yeah?” Stiles can’t imagine having such a large family, as much as Scott can sometimes feel like a brother. It’s just him and his dad, now, and so long as he isn’t doing drugs or actively breaking the law the sheriff’s willing to call it good. 

“Yeah,” Derek confirms. “I’m sorry to make you walk, though. Don’t you have a jeep? We could take that on Thursday.”

“In the shop,” Stiles says vaguely. He’s having this weird idea, suddenly, that it maybe isn’t hate that he’s been feeling for Derek, exactly. But luckily, they’re at the library before he has to think to hard about what it might be instead.

“Hi, we’re here for the tutoring?” Derek asks the librarian at the front desk, all deferential politeness. Stiles used to think how Derek acted around authority figures was all an act, but it’s not really, is it? It’s genuinely how his mom’s taught him to behave.

“Of course,” the woman says with a smile. “They’re right at the back, in the kid’s section -  past Romance. Janice can give you specific instructions.”

When they get to the tutoring area, Janice gives them a quick run-down: “So, for our program here we’d like you to have your kid read to you from a book of their choice. Encourage them, help with any words they can’t get, but try to let them do as much as they can on their own. Oh, and check their homework. Mostly just to make sure they’re putting in some effort, but you should have them re-do it if there’s too many wrong answers. We try to talk them through the solutions by asking questions rather than just giving them the corrections.”

“Sounds good,” Stiles lies. “Who are we working with?”

“I thought that you two could take Martin,” Janice says with a smile. Stiles looks over to where she’s pointing to see that most of the kids are already pairing up with pre-assigned tutors, and heading to desks. The kid Janice pointed to, Martin, is lagging shyly behind the rest, looking at his feet.

He’s wearing a gaudy a pink butterfly shirt, and more than just shy he looks  _ upset _ . Like someone was just teasing him, maybe. They really did get the misfit kid, Stiles thinks with a sympathetic pang quickly followed by a surprising swell of proprietary affection. He bets Derek won’t have the first idea how to treat a kid that is more interested in princesses than shooting hoops.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles says, hunkering down to be at the kid’s level. “ I’m Stiles and this guy here’s Derek. We’re gonna be your bros for the next month.” He smiles wide, trying to convey that he’s excited to be here and that he already likes Martin.

“‘Kay,” Martin mumbles.

“Awesome,” Derek says, with as much cheer as Stiles, tossing his bag onto one of the desks to claim it. “So, what do you wanna read today?”

Martin squirms up into a seat, and holds out a copy of the Boxcar Children.

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites,” Derek says appreciatively. “Can you read it to me?” He looks over at Stiles, and adds more quietly, “If you’re okay doing the homework part.”

Stiles nods, glad to take the less visible role. He pulls the papers from Martin’s Elsa and Anna backpack. It seems like the only assignments to check today are math and history, so Stiles starts reviewing them right off. 

Beside him, Martin starts to read to Derek hesitantly, stumbling over even the easy words. Stiles is instantly distracted, looking at the kid rather than the home work. Each time Martin stumbles he flushes a bit redder and seems to have even more trouble with the next sentence. Derek’s patience doesn’t seem to calm him much, either. 

“She did not like boys at all,” he reads slowly, trailing his finger on the page. “So she came to the f-front of the back… the bakery, and list… listeden… listet…” He blushes, biting his lip. 

“Listened,” Derek says, quietly so it’s as unobtrusive as possible. He’s calm and focused, and a little smile plays on his lips while he helps. Stiles wonders if he helps with his younger siblings’ homework or if he has cousins or something. Just… this can’t be natural. He’s so  _ kind _ . And smart. And good looking, really good looking. Stiles gulps, realizes he’s staring, and tries to refocus on checking Martin’s math. If Jose has five cookies and Hae has seven, how many should they give Johnny and Vidya so everyone has the same number of cookies?

But moments later he’s watching Derek and Martin again. The kid’s starting to get more into the plot of the book, but he still seems uncomfortable. He’s crossed his arms across his chest, and he hunches down and puts his chin on the table when he has to turn a page, contorting himself to hide the pink glitter. The lengths to which he’s going to disguise his outfit don’t escape Derek, either.

“I like your shirt,” Derek says at a break in the story. “It’s really pretty.”

“Yeah?” Martin asks, tentative with poorly-hidden nerves. “It’s my favorite. But Bobby said his mom said that it’s not a boy shirt.”

“Hmm,” Derek says. “If a boy’s wearing it, it’s a boy shirt.”

A small smile spreads across Martin’s face, and he starts in on the next page with a bit more confidence.  Stiles realizes he’s grinning too, a shmoopy, moony thing that he can’t barely help. His chest feels too-small and almost fizzy with emotion, and… and Jesus christ, he has a crush on Derek Hale. He has a crush on the  _ worst person humanly possible. _

Martin’s reading gets even more natural as his distraction fades and he stops trying to hide, but Stiles is in the opposite situation. If he could squirm under the table and die, that would be peachy. When he imagined scenarios, none of them had been this awful. And it is, of course awful. Stiles is fully aware that this new crush does not bode well at all for the next month volunteering with Derek, and will not end in anything but his complete humiliation.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the tutoring session goes by quickly, for Derek. It turns out that helping a shy kid read is actually pretty fun. He’s is almost sorry to leave to head back to the school with Stiles, not least because it’s a bit strange between them all of a sudden. Something about how they’d both opened up around Martin makes it uncomfortable to not have a third party to mediate. Alone with Stiles, in other words, suddenly feels very notably like  _ being alone with a boy his age _ . Which it always was, but now it sort of… feels that way.

Stiles is chattering about token minorities in word problems and representation, and it’s interesting enough. But Derek’s a little hung up on a moment from their tutoring. Why had Stiles looked at him like that when he complimented Martin’s shirt? It was like he was  _ surprised _ Derek was nice. He must really have thought that Derek was an asshole jock, he realizes. Weirdly, thinking of Stiles having a bad opinion of him stings. Of  _ course _ Derek’s nice. True, he maybe hasn’t been nice to Stiles, exactly, but he hadn’t been mean either. Why would he have gone out of his way to be kind, anyways? They hang out in different circles, they’re on rival teams, they’re not even in the same year. But, now that he’s getting to know him, he has to admit Stiles is an okay guy. Derek’s able to acknowledge that, even if they’re technically rivals. Stiles did his share of the locker room cleaning, after all. And he was the one to reach out to Martin first. He’s just… an okay guy. 

The weirdness doesn’t quite go away on Thursday when they meet next, but it starts to be a normal kind of weirdness, a feeling that’s somewhere between nerves and excitement. Derek actually looks forward to their volunteering. Stiles is easy to talk to, because like Erica he can hold a conversation basically on his own. It’s interesting to listen to his rambling thoughts, and despite what some people say about him, Derek  _ does _ like conversation. He’s just a little reserved, and he isn’t great at socializing. He knows he can seem stodgy and that he has resting murder face - Laura reminds him all the time.

But Stiles doesn’t seem to mind much, and he never says that Derek’s being a drag, unlike Kate, the cheerleader who Derek had dated off-and-on his Sophomore and Junior year. So, when his mom gives him back his keys a couple weeks later, he opts not to say anything about it and just keep walking to school and to the library. A car ride would be so short, and their walks are the only time they really have to chat to each other without Martin there. At lunch in the cafeteria would be impossible, of course. They’re still on rival teams, after all, and in different circles. There’s another reason to not mention the Camaro, too, one that that Derek’s not keen on confronting: thinking about Stiles next to him in the small front seat makes his insides squirm in an eager way he’d just as soon not put a name to. 

He tries not to examine it, really. But Stiles’s mouth is infinitely distracting and Derek finds himself watching it while Stiles rambles, gesturing with his broad, sure hands. One day he sort of thinks, idly, about what it would be like to kiss Stiles, and then it’s all he can think about. He thinks about kissing Stiles in the Camaro when he drives to the grocery store, he think about it when he spots the Lacrosse guys on the quad, he thinks about it in class. “Earth to Derek” starts to be the main way his friends have to get his attention. It’s a problem. 

Usually Derek would just go for what he wanted. Ever since Paige freshman year, he’s been fairly confident in his ability to get with people he’s attracted to. But Stiles isn’t just anyone, he’s a lacrosse player, a troublemaker, and increasingly a friend. Derek doesn’t want to ruin things if their relationship blew up like his and Kate’s had. Better to leave things how they are.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite Stiles terror at realizing his crush on Derek, the volunteering actually goes really well. He feels like he behaves mostly normally despite his feelings and his increasingly vivid fantasies. It must work alright, because Derek does seem to accept him as a kind of friend. And, of course, Martin is the best. With Derek and Stiles’ encouragement, he’s started wearing more and more of the clothes he likes, and talking about his interests in princess films and crafts. 

Today, he’s dressed a tutu with a purple hoodie. It’s hard to think that this is their last session. When this hour is over, they won’t have an excuse to hang out with the kid any more. And, Stiles has to think, what reason will the basketball captain have to hang out with a mediocre lacrosse player?

“Whatcha doin’ big guy?” Stiles says, patting Martin on the head. “Finish all your work like usual? Oh, I got you a little something for being such a good student for us.” He hands Martin a pack of sparkly barrettes, which the kind excitedly takes with a quick “thanks!”. He picks out a couple to clip into his bangs.

“Looking good,” Derek says. “Do you want to start reading?” They’re a little early, but Martin is usually excited to read and find out more about the Aldens and their detective work. However, the kid seems to have a bit of summer under his skin already, because he shakes his head no.

“It’s not time yet, can we do a staring contest?” Martin says, kicking his feet in his excitement. 

Stiles tries to hide his grin at the demanding tone, so different from how shy he’d been when they met. “What’s that?”

“You haveta look at each other and you don’t blink, or you lose,” Martin says seriously. “I’m really good.”

“Yeah?” Derek says amiably. “I’m pretty good myself, I used to beat all my siblings.”

“Okay, play me,” Martin demands setting his elbows on the library desk and frowning in concentration. “When I say go, then we started and you can’t blink or you lose, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek says equally serious. He settles down and makes a show of blinking hard and fast like he’s warming up. 

“Three-two-one-GO,” Martin says impatiently.

The two of them stare hard at each other, and Stiles is free to watch Derek watching Martin. His eyes are bright and multifaceted, and there’s a little smirk playing on his lips that he’s trying to bite back. Stiles thinks he must be a little amused at his young opponent's fervor for th e challenge. For his own part, Stiles feels a breathless from staring at Derek like this, finally looking his fill. He’s sorry when Derek blinks first, letting Martin win.

“Yes!”  Martin says, fistpumping. He turns to Stiles and says, “Now you.”

Stiles honestly considers beating him, because he doesn’t believe in letting kids win on principle. Te problem is that he’s hyperaware that it’s Derek’s turn to watch, now. He could be looking right at Stiles, at his embarrassing moles and at-home buzzcut. Or maybe he’s just playing on his phone, not even paying attention. Or maybe he’s looking at Stiles’s mouth… at that thought, he ends up blinking way earlier than he needed to. He catches his breath while Martin cheers again.

“Hah, guess you’re as good as you say,” Stiles says indulgently. If the kid’s guessed he won unfairly either time, there’s no sign of it.

“Okay, now do each other,” Martin demands.

_ What _ ? Stiles feels himself blush hard. Great, he’s probably getting all blotchy-red across his nose,  Just how he wants Derek to remember him. “Uh...”

“You’re already the winner, though,” Derek pleads, sounding a bit choked himself for some reason.

“But we don’t know who’s second best,” Martin says, as if this problem is both obvious and in need of a solution.

“Um,” Stiles says, glancing at Derek. Derek is very carefully not looking at him.

Martin whines. “C’mon.”

Derek glances up, and quirks an uncomfortable eyebrow at Stiles as he flicks his eyes to the pouting kid. Stiles sighs. Looks like they’re doing this. 

They sit face to face and on Martin’s count they start to just…  _ stare _ at each other. Into each other’s eyes. From like, six inches away. Stiles knows he must be sweating bullets. All he can think about is kissing Derek, and Derek’s pretty eyes, and the little soft hairs at the ends of his thick brows. It’s awkward as sin, and yet doesn’t want to blink because then it will all be over. 

Their staring contest ends up taking much longer than the other two, to the point where Martin seems suspicious by the time he finally calls Derek the loser. For a second afterwards, they’re still staring at each other, just looking for no good reason. Stiles would almost swear that Derek glanced down at his mouth.

Martin stares too, eyes narrow. “Are you two  _ boyfriends _ ?” he accuses suspiciously.

“NO,” Stiles and Derek blurt at the same time, and then laugh nervously at each other.

Derek whips out Martin’s book and almost shoves it at the kid. “So, we were about to find out who committed the crime, right? Let’s start reading.”

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and gets down to work with the math problems again. If the cake’s been cut into twelve pieces, and Sally, Marco and Ping all want to take a piece home for their brothers, will there be enough cake for the five other guests? The problem helps him get his heartbeat back under control. This, he can do.  It’s so much simpler to add up and divide rather than try to figure out what ninety seconds of eye contact mean.

 

*

 

Walking back together along the familiar path to the school, Derek can’t help but think more and more about kissing Stiles. Their staring contest had been like the beginning of one of his fantasies, but for once it wasn’t just in his head. When they’d been looking at each other in the library, Stiles’ expression really  _ had _ been heated and interested and nervous, all the things that Derek’s imagined seeing on his face right before they kiss.

They cut through the baseball field and slowly come to a stop at the edge of the grass next to the parking lot, where their paths usually split. This is the last time they’ll do this, he thinks with a pang. His excuse to see Stiles and pretend there could be something more there is ending. This is where they should just part ways with an awkward wave, but Derek doesn’t want to. 

He turns to Stiles, and says, “so I guess we’re… uh…done.”

It feels tense, and Stiles hesitates, too. Like they’re both acknowledging that something more needs to happen, they both feel the electricity in the air.

“Uh, yeah… I guess so,” Stiles says back, biting his lip and hitching his backpack nervously on his shoulder.

Both of them are trying to check the other for a cue, shooting quick glances back and forth and not quite meeting eyes. Do they wave? Do they hug shoulder to shoulder, slap each other’s backs and say “no homo”? While Derek is wondering, their eyes finally meet. He doesn’t look away, this time, catching in a long heated look. 

Derek doesn’t want to look away any more than he had in the library. He knows that it’s weird how long they’re staring, and that it’s not a game this time. His insides seem to be getting hot, his skin feels too tight. Slowly, he nudges forward into Stiles’ space, tentative and unsure despite everything. Stiles’ breathing hitches and speeds, his chest visibly heaving, he’s almost gasping for air. Derek feels breathless, too. He revels in the fact that Stiles he doesn’t step back; in fact he’s looking straight at Derek, and his eyes are dark with arousal, mouth open and inviting. Derek licks his own lips nervously and then he closes his eyes and kisses him.

He barely registers the physical sensation of it. Stiles’ mouth has puckered on instinct, so it’s just a firm press of dry lips, but the emotions are so intense it feels like fireworks. He’s kissing Stiles, for real. Stiles  is really letting himself be kissed. Derek lets his lips part, just a bit, catches Stiles’ lower lip between them before releasing and moving back an inch. And then Stiles is falling into him, and they’re kissing again with a hint of tongue. Stiles throws his arms around Derek’s neck, and Derek’s hands are on his waist, drawing the two of them closer. Stiles tilts his head, maneuvering so they can kiss more deeply.

They’re distracted enough that Derek stumbles when he moves his foot, almost bringing Stiles down and forcing them to break apart as they get their feet under them. Stiles laughs a little, a bright and giddy noise that has Derek giggling a bit himself. Derek’s face feels hot, but he can see that Stiles is blushing too. 

“You know coach didn’t say  _ only _ ten hours,” Derek suggests. “I bet we could tutor over the summer, too. There’s got to be a program.”

“Yeah?” Stiles teases. “You actually going to show up for this summer work, or are you just trying to prank the rival lacrosse player?”

It’s ninety percent a joke, but Derek can read some actual nerves in Stiles’ expression after spending the last month getting to know him. Partially, he shares his concern. After all, their teams have been at each other’s throats for as long as either of them has been at the school. Still…

“I don’t give a fuck what Jackson  or Isaac thinks,” Derek says. “Or anybody on either team. Screw pranks, screw the rivalry. The only thing we’re getting on Coach’s bad side for from here on out is skipping practice to make out by the bleachers.”

“We’re gonna make out under the bleachers?” Stiles laughs again, but it’s a happy one. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

“Sure,” Derek announces, giddy with the idea of making out with Stiles in the future. “How often do you really think he’ll catch us, anyways?”

Quite often, as it turns out. But then, they don’t really mind.


End file.
